FB CONUNDRUM.

What happens to your FACEBOOK when you die?  A rather morbid thought but if you are like me, particular and punctilious, cleaning up your act is just  a necessary process.   Not that it would matter as when you depart, things that are left undone, you surely wouldn’t know or care. But out there, floating in the WorldWideWeb for immortality are all your personal pictures, flirty inbox messages, party videos, your extreme sentiments on political ideology, birthday messages, graduation pictures, and even ultrasound scans of your babies. (Not to mention any verbal fights that break out from time to time) - I am talking about all the posts on Facebook through the years. 

So I checked with FACEBOOK and they have instituted a policy a few years ago regarding how to handle the profiles of deceased individuals. Family members could choose one of two options: close the account—Facebook will delete an account permanently upon the family’s request—or converting the account into a memorial profile. Facebook’s policy states the company will never release login information to anyone other than the account holder, even after death.

In the five year span of being a member of this crazy social media, my meager total  of 500 or so friends consists of people I meet socially, old school friends, ex lovers, family members and a host of uncategorized peeps.  In the corner of my globe, the statistics say there are some 15 million Facebook users.  Basic calculation of a half a percent death rate means 75,000 are floating out there without it ever being dismantled, turned off, or deactivated.  This poses some problems.  First of all it is kind of spooky.  Second, identity stealing is criminal. And third, my lawyer will have the extra task  to include the password in my will and testament besides dealing with the millions I’m leaving my loved ones.  (a little over exaggeration there).   Or else one of my “thinking” relative will contact FACEBOOK on my behalf.

Let me take you back a mere five years ago, when all this was not even considered,  This is what probably took place.

“Are you on Facebook?”

A socially innocent question asked at a function.

“No”

A response, worthy of a little bemused look at such a disdainful past time.

Like it or not, explanations would be given in great detail of the essentials of being on Facebook, the wall-to-wall postings, uploading pictures, tagging pictures, comments, pokes, games, catching up with old school friends’.  This will leave you a little befuddled, low-tech and lagging behind.   Enough of this modern world – its time to go back to the world of fountain pens and Waterford marked paper.

But if you said,

“Yes, I’m on Facebook – be my friend, or look me up”

A whole new world has just opened.   Having been a member of Facebook for now over 5 years, there is light under the tunnel. Understanding the FB culture is multi-layered and truly remarkable to be a part of this phenomenon.     It is a world of connections.   The six-degree separation theory is now old hat.

The world has never seemed smaller or more connected than Facebook.   Whether it is a friend, an ex-lover, or relatives in a distant land, and having not been in contact for eons, it is now available to keep up with on a daily basis is fascinating.  Building up contacts on Facebook, friends can expand very quickly when navigating around friends of friends. Certain business require you to be on Facebook substantiating your authenticity.  Many ask to be friends, discretion is whether or not to confirm or ignore. A rather complicated set of ethics of FB good manners needs to be added as a reminder to those that lack manners.

There are times when it is decidedly better to shut off from the world, de-activate FB when "the" relationship is broken, but you know you will go back to it when you feel very left out.

So, what to do with a dead user’s information remains a tricky subject. Most social networking sites allow users to post comments and messages to each other, but who owns that data? Is it the recipient, the sender or the company? If you’ve left a message for someone and they pass away, can you retrieve it? These are questions most sites have yet to address.

The responsibility should really fall   onto you and your family. It’s not a lot of fun to think about but a little consideration could save your loved ones from experiencing hours of frustration on top of their grief.

Let me be honest, I joined Facebook knowing the perils of privacy.  I am after all, human. I just fall into the voyeurism group.  There are many FB profiles but I'm in the category of an  ADHD with a few seconds to spare in between meetings, waiting for the traffic to ease, or just plain bored out of my skull having retrieved 30 minuets of valuable time from some cancellation. 

Inactive for the most part, I really don’t wish to announce where I had just been in the world or what I had just eaten. But there lies my perversion, I like to spy on my FB friends, find out as much as time allows before I get utterly bored.  It is curiosity mingled with an excuse of being in touch. 

There is a thought that pervades the back of my mind every time I check in on my wall.  My friendships range from ex lovers, high school friends, my kids, my husband’s friends, work colleagues, nieces and nephews, even the dreaded older brother and general people that fall into neither of these categories, they all are in my “room”.  If any of these friends wish to tie the ends together, they can spin an interesting tale….  The tale has many different endings and just imagining they are truly in “my living room”, does gets me all in a tizzy before I close my eyes to sleep.

Which brings me to my dilemma of the FB conundrum. 

Should we have ways to dismantle, deactivate when the time comes.  Or allow it to hang around for eternity.

This thought is the one that really  keeps me awake at night.

TINSELTOWN

Flying in from great airports like Japan’s Narita, or Seoul’s Incheon, Tom Bradley International Airport in Los Angeles is a huge let down when you think of modern America. Throughout an eight year period of  crisscrossing the Pacific ocean, TBIA or the airport sexier symbol “LAX,”  seems to always have an area cordoned off for renovations with endless repairs, looking decidedly shabby and generally an overall disappointment when LA is your first port of call into America.  

Navigating around Los Angeles is mind bogglingly chaotic.  It becomes intimidating  seen from this vantage point.  Make a wrong turn and woe-is-me.  So always go with Garmin Nav units  that spouts out directions, in an English accent, Australian one, or the local SoCal accent.  I prefer the SoCal accent, befits the surroundings, as Jeeves, the posh English one deserves directing me in Knightsbridge.

First impressions matter.  First impressions stay.   But before we put down and categorize the country on its front porch, a little foray into the 3000sq miles of area, every nook and cranny should be explored.

Traversing the length and breadth of Los Angeles along its eight lane freeways enough times, lost enough times, you learn not to be afraid of the NO-GO zones like Compton, East LA.     You also learn that Beverley Hills, the swank area covers only a few blocks, and living on Wiltshire Boulevard doesn’t necessary mean you are in the high spots.

Marina Del Rey where I found myself residing generally termed by the locals as FOB territory – those  (fresh of the boat).   Real Los Angelitos apparently live further up the hills.    Marina Del Rey harbors pricey boats, catamarans, fancy speedboats, expensive yachts with helicopter pads, alongside cheap house boats, weekend sails and small fishing boats.  It draws the very rich debonair to the exotic style of living.

This is where I met Richard on my walks through the Marinas.   He was lounging on the deck of his yacht, sipping from a red mug of steaming coffee.  Moored to the east side the yacht will get the sun in the afternoon.  As this was early morning, it was shaded and chilly.  Yelling as I walked passed his yacht  “Dandeana”   “would you like some coffee?”   A little flirty I thought, but turned around anyway, and was surprised at this  Robert Redford lookalike, oops this is LA, lala land as they call it, it could very well be Robert Redford.   As the retina focused a bit more clearly, it was an even better looking RR and less wrinkly.

Do I stop or do I go?  

Tempting but the RR lookalike needs to wait a bit.  If he remains on deck on my way back from Venice beach then I might take up the offer. 

A short cut on Via Marina through Dell Avenue, Washington Blvd brings me straight to Venice Beach.      Cow’s End, a juice bar serving the best grapefruit and orange juice just before you enter Venice Whaler beach is a must stop.  

If you remember the Cantina scene in the 1977 Star Wars film where all sorts of creatures imbibing concoctions of smoky liquid, well Venice boardwalk is not unlike that scene.   




Time warped, I could have been transported into the 1960’s hippie love & peace mood but its actually 2014 – the shorts, the tattoes, the skate board, but most of all the perverse sweet smell of marijuana wafting through as you walk along ingesting the sites and sounds.   

Add caption

Bearded men, clowns, bag lady, hunky Baywatch life guards, hippies selling cheap bracelets, psychics, and many more walk alongside me basking in the sweet smelling weed drew me into the pharmacy with the sign saying “Doctor In house.”   Life on Venice requires a puff to be in tune with the ambience, so I must  learn to be part of the scene.

A twenty minute turn around and everything was visually enhancing, the weird people didn't look too weird,  the grapefruit juice was just amazing,  my hearing heightened, my legs didn't feel like legs, so I could have walked the 14 miles all the way to Malibu beach, or so I thought….

Venice broadwalk in the sunset

The afternoon floated into evening and  it seemed sensible to walk home before the sun sets.   Hungrier than I thought, the waft of garlic and tomatoes emanating opposite Cows End was C & O Trattoria made me cross the street, checked my wallet for credit card and walked in.    The restaurant was rocking and luckily there was a free table. This place is every pasta addicts dream.   

C & O Trattoria on Washington

Its carb, upon carb, upon carb….overhearing some loud American diner speak,  “My answer is I will run 10 miles and do ab-ripper 90 reps  afterwards if it means getting to eat an unlimited amount of juicy, delicious, garlic knots and eat a huge variety of pasta,”  justifying the large instake with his friend.

Familiar tone of voice, I turned around and it was my RR lookalike sitting with a younger hunk – he remembered, “hey its you from this morning – join us please.”  

C & O Trattoria - Venice

I did.  Traded in coffee for a couple of glasses of Merlot. Somewhere in this picture is me with a plate of pasta.

You can’t have been to LA if you haven’t surfed the beaches of the “Bu”  or partied in one of the beautiful homes in Malibu.   


The affluent beach city of Los Angeles, is a 21 mile strip of prime Pacific coastline, famous for it is home to many Hollywood movie stars and those in the entertainment world.

A Malibu hideaway  along the Pacific Coast Highway, belonging to a Director held a  lunch party for a small gathering.  BBQ and buckets of Champagne filled with interesting people and their anecdotes. This feeling can only be described as  “pinch myself – I am here amongst the  Hollywood set.”   

There were lawyers, directors, producers plus a bunch of newly formed Cali friends. The conversation was heated on Obamacare and Scorsese's latest movie. 

The prunes with bacon, the olive tapanard, the artichoke dip, was divine with iced cold bucket of Moet's finest.  I did not want to be anywhere else in the world.  

Episode two of this adventure will continue despite sipping such alarming amounts of  fizzy golden nectar.  

Under the haze of Venice's weed and Malibu's Moet, 

LA so far has fulfilled a much different picture than when 

   I first landed.      

Until the next "City of Angels" chapter.